Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/139

Rh to a certain village in the hills, when she discovered that it would be unlucky, owing to the position of the stars since the beginning of the year, to make a journey in that direction; and (though she never told me so) I think, Sir, it troubled her sorely that you should have come upon her when she was living in so wretched a place. But there was never anyone in the world like my lady for keeping things to herself; she could never bear that other people should know what was on her mind. I have no doubt, Sir, that she sometimes behaved very oddly to you and that you have seen all this for yourself.”

Yes, this was all just as Tō no Chūjō had described. “I think there was some mention of a child that Chūjō was vexed to have lost sight of,” said Genji more interested than ever; “am I right?” “Yes, indeed,” she answered; “it was born in the spring of last year, a girl, and a fine child it was.” “Where is it now?” asked Genji. “Could you get hold of it and bring it to me here without letting anyone know where you were taking it? It would be a great comfort to me in my present misery to have some remembrance of her near me”; and he added, “I ought of course to tell Chūjō, but that would lead to useless and painful discussions about what has happened. Somehow or other I will manage to bring her up here in my palace. I think there can be no harm in that. And you will easily enough find some story to tell to whatever people are now looking after her.” “I am very glad that this has entered your head,” said Ukon, “it would be a poor lookout for her to grow up in the quarter where she is now living. With no one properly belonging to her and in such a part of the town….”

In the stillness of the evening, under a sky of exquisite beauty, here and there along the borders in front of his palace some insect croaked its song; the leaves were just beginning to turn. And as he looked upon this pleasant picture he felt ashamed at the contrast between his surroundings and the little house where Yūgao had lived. Suddenly somewhere among the bamboo groves the bird called iyebato uttered its sharp note. He remembered just how she had looked when in the gardens of that fatal house the same bird had startled her by its cry, and turning to Ukon, “How old was she?” he suddenly asked; “for though she seemed childlike in her diffidence